The Unmasked

by Josh Shiben



  The Unmasked

  By Josh Shiben

  All Rights Reserved

  Even that one you’re thinking of right now

  The Unmasked first appeared in the 2015 Halloween Edition of Hello Horror Magazine, which you can read for free at HelloHorror.com. Special thanks to the entire staff for their support.

  Large fat drops fell from the sky, bludgeoning Glen’s scalp with their icy caress. He shivered, and pulling his soaked-through coat up tightly around his shoulders continued his march. His water-logged shoes squelched in the mud of the poorly-maintained shoulder as he struggled to see through the deep blackness of the night. He was getting close, now. He was sure of it. With a crack, a spider web of lightning briefly silhouetted the forest around him, for an instant turning the invisible trees into reaching arms and clawing limbs, before plunging the world back into darkness. The pale beam of the flashlight in Glen’s hand panned the road, feebly attempting to penetrate the darkness of the night in its search for obstructions.

  The car was lost. Sinking into the rushing river behind him, it could afford no shelter from the storm. Only by chance had Glen happened to note that tell-tale yellow glow of electricity before the crash, but it was now his only hope of shelter and rescue from the ravages of an angry sky. The rain continued its assault, with drops so heavy they felt solid as they buffeted him mercilessly.

  His light fell on a mailbox seemingly hidden from the road by a tangle of underbrush. Beside it, a narrow, muddy driveway stretched deep into the forest and out of sight, nearly washed out from downpour. From somewhere deep in the woods, a faint illumination of electric lights pierced the night, promising warmth and shelter. The yellow light of the windows peaked through the skeletal arms of the bare trees like a tiny sun that refused to rise. Without hesitation, Glen turned off of the road and began trudging through the mud of the driveway, sinking nearly to his ankles and having to fight the cloying suction of the soft earth.

  The driveway sloped down a hill from the main road, deeper into the suffocating blackness of the trees. Glen followed it carefully, its descent into the darkness seemingly lasting forever. As he continued his journey down, the house he sought loomed massively in the gloom, and in the darkness Glen found himself unable to tell if it was slowly rising up out of a pit or if he was falling down towards it. It glowed in an almost reverent silence as the wind about it howled and roared with fury.

  The building was awe inspiring in the darkness – twin stone turrets stretched into the overgrown tree-line, bracing the monstrous structure. Large arched windows glowed yellow in the darkness, and through the rain, Glen could see movement inside. The entire facade was faced with a grey limestone, and appeared to be almost as much of a castle as a home. Overgrown ivy and tangles of briars clung to the sides of the mansion, while the gardens in the front lay dead from neglect. The wind whipped rain against the walls, battering it tirelessly, but they stood solidly, promising shelter from the worst that the sky could muster.

  Glen trudged to the entryway, his feet heavy with mud and his clothing soaked through from the icy rain. He felt frozen to his very core, like a corpse in the coffin-like freezers of a morgue. With a shivering hand, he reached up to knock on the heavy wooden door before him, only to be shocked as it silently swung open on its own. A smartly dressed man stood in the glow of the doorway, holding the portal open and peering out at Glen. The first thing that struck Glen was the man’s shape – he was impossibly lean, with long pencil-thin limbs and sharp features. The man seemed somewhat older, although his exact age was impossible to guess, as he wore a white mask which covered the upper half of his face. The porcelain mask was expressionless and line-less, and smooth like sun-bleached bones polished in the sands of some forgotten desert. Beneath the mask, the man’s mouth was held tightly shut in an impassive scowl.

  The scowl parted, and the man almost seemed to smile before he spoke. “Welcome, Mr. Barrows. Excellent timing. The party has just begun.” He seemed to have an air of satisfaction to his words – his deep voice almost vacillated between reverence and relief.

  “I’m… That’s not my name,” replied Glen confusedly. “I’m Glen Tillman and I’ve been in an accident.” He gestured out towards the storm before turning to look longingly into the warmth and shelter of the building. “Please… I need help.” The man in the doorway assessed Glen quietly for a moment, and Glen began to worry he may be turned away. They wouldn’t let him freeze to death out here, would they? He tried to look into the door-man’s eyes to guess as to his thoughts, but the passionless mask rendered any kind of assessment impossible. Finally, the man’s lips parted into a narrow smile revealing shocking white teeth.

  “Of course, sir. Please come in and we will get you whatever you want.” The doorman’s long arm opened the door fully, while his other gestured into the warm glow of the interior. Glen entered the building and inspected the immaculate foyer, painfully aware of the mud on his shoes and water dripping from his body. The room was illuminated by several small electric lights which glowed in the ceiling, but provided no real warmth. Solid marble slabs made up the floor, polished into a milky pearl, while large stone arches curved up to an almost impossibly high ceiling. The entire structure had the feeling of a cathedral buried in the mountains. Despite its size and grandeur, the room was still cool, and Glen had to work to keep his teeth from chattering.

  “I don’t mean to be any trouble. Please, I just need a phone.” His words echoed strangely in the room, where every sound seemed magnified.

  “Of course, sir,” replied the door-man as he effortlessly shut the door. Then, sliding past Glen, he soundlessly strode through an open door and down the narrow hallway beyond. “The phone is just this way, Mr. Barrows. Please follow me. ” Glen didn’t bother to correct the strange man, only thankful to be out of the rain – he was still freezing inside the structure, but at least here he could begin to dry. He turned and began following, wincing as his own foot-falls echoed loudly behind him.

  The corridor was narrow, and Glen had to hurry to keep up with the doorman, who moved quickly and silently through the structure. His movements almost reminded Glen of a cat – elegant and smooth, loose, as if his joints were fluid instead of bones and sinew. As they walked deeper into the building, Glen began to hear music and voices. Laughter and dancing seemed to tumble through the halls like memories. Glen began to get nervous – where was he being led?

  He almost crashed into the man when he stopped abruptly at a large double door. Wordlessly, the stranger opened the door revealing a massive ballroom. Inside, dozens of masked men and women glided slowly to the march of a waltz. Warmth billowed from the room, carrying with it the scent of perfumes and flowers. Glen stood dumbfounded, as he watched masked acrobats churn in large silk banners hung from the rafters, seeming to roll themselves up against gravity and slide back down all in time to the music. Finally he tore his eyes away from the hall and turned to the door-man. “I think there’s been a mistake. I’m not supposed to be here, and I need a phone. Please, my car sunk into a river and-“

  “I understand, sir. There’s been no mistake. Please wait here where it’s warm while I fetch a telephone.” He gestured into the room, beckoning Glen inside.

  “I’m not dressed for this. I hate to intrude.”

  “No intrusion. Please sir, make yourself at home. I’ll return at once with a phone.” With that, the doorman bowed deeply and disappeared back into the structure. Glen paused at the door, unsure of how to proceed. He wasn’t confident he could find his way back the way he came, and was even less confident he wanted to.

  He took an awkward step into the ballroom, attempting to draw as little attenti
on to himself as possible. The room was dimly lit from chandeliers hanging high above the dancers, but the light was adequate for Glen to survey the room. The hall was large, and similarly to the foyer also had polished marble floors. The décor spoke of impossible wealth, with dark wooden walls accented by golden trim and leaves. A string quartet was assembled near the dancers, coaxing songs from their instruments. The guests were dressed elegantly, the men in three-piece suits, while the women wore evening gowns of all colors and shapes. Each of their faces was hidden by a unique mask – Glen counted several ornate birds, a laughing jester, a whole host of animals of varying degrees of realness, and a multitude of various frozen faces.

  He watched quietly as the masked dancers moved, their steps elegant with practiced ease, and Glen wondered who these masqueraders were. He scanned the dancing throng, looking for clues, but could make little out about any of them. They were all obviously wealthy, or at least appeared to be, and all were young and apparently healthy, but he could tell nothing about any of the personalities under the masks. Glen